Log: Sea Urchins Make For Bargaining Fodder
Who: Bailey, Palia, P'draig
When: It is a spring morning, 11:08 of day 24, month 5, turn 22 of Interval 10.
Where: The Beach House, Ista Weyr
What: Paddy and Palia meet Bailey who is very good at winkling deals out of a sucker like Paddy.
>---< Local Weather for ISW >------------------------------------------------<
Current Temp: 81 F Today's Lo/Hi: 79 F / 88 F
Belior: waning crescent Timor: waxing crescent
Weather: showers
----------------------------------------------------------------------------
The morning is humid and breezy with brief showers in the mid-afternoon,
by evening the sky has cleared.
>-------------------------------------< 11:08 D24 M5 T22, spring morning >---<
The Beach House(#1647RJ)
Standing between things: the beach and the jungle, the Weyr and the Hold and serving more than one function, both public business and private abode, the Beach House has a comfortable, relaxed feel to it. Built along southern lines, the entire cothold is wrapped around with a porch and the roof slopes low, hanging out over the edges of its support structures: future protection against Thread. The windows are wide and set low in the walls, a few boasting full glass panes, the rest screened and shuttered with sliding panels.
On this end of the building, set at a slight angle to the water with a full view of the beach, the porch lies nearly flush to the ground allowing patrons to walk right into the restaurant. Cane-weave tables and chairs for two and four line the porch walls and a long counter provides both extra seating 'bar' style along with a view right into the open kitchen. An opening wide enough for two people is cut into the counter allowing servers to pass between the kitchen and the dining area. Warm-hued wood paneling lines the underside of the roof and all of the surfaces within the restaurant and local climbing vine flowers curl around the support posts of the porch from planters hung beneath. When open for business, little glow baskets are unlidded within the embrace of the vines to provide a little extra decorative touch. Dimly visible, about a quarter of a mile away are the docks and the Sandbar.
The Beach House has just opened for lunch, which means it's slow yet: only two people are sitting at one of the tables in the corner of the porch where the ocean breeze washes through and cools things down. It's a typical almost-summer Istan day: humid, warm, but it's not horribly sticky yet. Perched at the counter with a coloring book is Palia, P'draig's eight-turn old daughter and the brownrider stands behind that counter, moving about in a measured, steady way, laying things out, doing a little chopping and looking over lists of things, while the other cook presently on duty stirs something in a big pot on the stove.
Two patrons looks set to become three as a brunette steps out of the bright sunlight and onto the porch, munching her way through one of the island's seasonal fruits. Heedless of whether it might be bad form or not to enter an eating establishment while...already eating, she takes her time allowing her eyes to adjust as she takes her surroundings in. It's the little girl to whom her attention finally falls first, barefooted steps carrying her in Palia's direction.
Softly: "Customer, Pali-girl," P'draig prompts his daughter as he looks up and catches sight of incoming, fruit-munching Bailey first. The girl sits up a little, putting down the purple she was holding and swivels on her stool, fixes Bailey with a long look which is followed by a sudden bright and very dimpled smile. "Hi there! Welcome to the Beach House. Want to sit up here at the counter, or would you rather have a table all to yourself?" This manner of hostessing seems to amuse Paddy to no end, head ducking as he chews on his cheeks to hold in laughter.
First surprise and then amusement color Bailey's expression at the little girl's greeting. Stepping close enough that she can now see the coloring-in book, her head tips to one side as if giving the query serious thought, "If I sit up here with you, will I be allowed to color-in too?" Only now is P'draig given closer, more obvious inspection, the knot at his shoulder drawing a frown so quick to be banished that it may go unnoticed by him. She has no words for the brownrider just yet, aside from a quick smile and then her eyes are casting back to Palia in anticipation of her response.
That response earns a tilt of Palia's head and a quick check with her father, all silent. Paddy meets his daughter's gaze and gives her a little nod of permission, all while setting out little containers and then giving the countertop a swipe with a freshly wet rag. "Yes, you can color too if you really want to," Palia invites and swivels her stool back around, carefully slides the coloring book over and aligns her pencils along the top where Bailey can reach if she sits beside the girl. "The menu card is right here if you want to get lunch," she adds. Once she's done doing /her/ spiel, P'draig finally speaks up. "We've got fresh shellfish in and some porcine from the mainland for the lunch specials. Let me know if you'd like to start with a drink, I think you've got appetizers covered," the brownrider remarks good-naturedly about Bailey's just-consumed fruit.
Bailey
From flare of hip to swell of breast, Bailey's frame puts curves to all the right places of her 5' 8" stature. Falling to just past her shoulder blades, brunette tresses streaked through with flashes of auburn frame an oval shaped face that tends toward square. The absence of bangs provides an uncluttered view of sky blue eyes set beneath finely shaped brows. Faint freckles dust across nose and cheeks offering up a misguided air of beguiling naivete. Harbouring a small scar at the corner of the top lip this otherwise sensual mouth that pulls easily into laughter will move just as quickly into a compressed line of displeasure.
Attire is lightweight and in keeping with that of the warmer climes. A wrap-around skirt in a merry jumble of emerald green and fuchsia pink shot through with threads of silver is tied low on the hips and paired with a simple white halter neck top that stops just short of covering her navel. The only adornment worn is that of a bracelet braided together with black horsehair and knotted in place around her left wrist. Leather thong sandals complete the ensemble but are rarely found on her feet.
The exchange between child and brownrider doesn't escape Bailey's attention, she is however polite enough to pretend otherwise. Lips twitch but restrain the laughter bubbling just below the surface for the reply. Setting an expression equal to the honor of joining in with coloring-in, the brunette slides up onto the stool next to the little girl, saying, "You're most kind," and then because it's just mannerly to do so she extends a hand to the child, "I'm Bailey. So, what are working on today?" Her attention is on her new companion, but she's listening to what P'draig is saying, the faint flush to her cheeks at his last bearing testament to that. The sticky pip of the fruit just consumed is held delicately between thumb and finger unsure what she should do with the damning evidence. Then holding it out as if to trade it, "Perhaps just some water for now?"
"I'm Palia," the girl replies promptly and takes Bailey's hand with all the solemnity due the moment. "I'm a hostess," she also confides very seriously. The picture on the page: a fair of firelizards darting above waves, with a queen curled up atop a clutch of eggs protectively. Only one of the lizards is colored in so far in shades of blue and Palia's been working on the flowering vines that decorate a little bit of cliff-face in the background. The girl gestures very properly towards her father. "And this is P'draig, he's the owner and chef here at the Beach House." Clearly, the kid gets a kick out of her big important job. "He'll be cooking your lunch today, once you decide what you'd like." And there's that salesman's smile again even as Palia points to the drawing in the book. "You can color whatever you'd like." And she's picking up the purple again to continue with the flowers. Paddy just smiles and nods. "One water, coming right up," and holds out his hand for the abandoned pip, which finds its way into a compost bucket. water, with ice in, is poured from a pitcher into a tall glass and set down on the counter.
"Oooh," sounding very impressed at the title the little girl bestows upon herself, "Well met, Palia." Due attention is given the page she's to help with, the image of firelizards causing a corner of her mouth to lift upward. The child's introduction now forcing her to give proper attention to the man behind the counter, Bailey does just that, big baby blues casting a long look over him. "Nice place you got here, P'draig," not sounding nearly as at ease with the adult as she is with Palia. Even less so once he's taking that pip and discarding it, "It's a long walk," she tries to explain about the recently consumed fruit and the request for water too most likely. With her left hand taking up a blue pencil to begin coloring one of the firelizards, her right reaches to surreptiously draw the menu just close enough that she can glance at prices without seeming to do so.
Shading purple into a petal, Palia sneaks a look sidelong at Bailey's coloring technique, curiously. Meanwhile, Paddy's put the pitcher back down under his workspace, where presumably there's a cooler or similar keeping things chilly. "Did you come all the way down from the Weyr just now?" the brownrider asks in a friendly, easy-going fashion as he resumes prep work. The menu is higher end than what's available at the Sand Bar, but the prices, while not cheap, aren't outrageous either. The place seems to be oriented on providing a finer dining experience in a family-friendly setting at affordable prices. And the smell coming off of the soup pot that other cook is stirring is pretty darned good. Some kind of chowder, go figure.
Thus far Bailey, pressing a little harder on the pencil to produce a deeper shade, has followed along the outlines of the firelizard. That done, she's now starting to add the same deep shade to places that would fall in shadow were the light coming in from the top of the critter. Laying her pencil down for a bit, the glass of iced water is taken up and a good few gulps are swallowed down. Wiping her hand across the back of her mouth in unladylike manner, her attention is back to P'draig, shaking her head, "Haven't been really been to the Weyr itself yet," setting the glass back down a finger traces a spiral pattern into the condensation formed on its sides, "came from the docks." A quick glance about the establishment, "Looking for someone. Thought I might find him here." The menu is carefully pushed aside, her nostrils flaring slightly for the delicious smell of soup wafting in the air. Unbidden, her tongue does a quick swipe across her bottom lip and rather than ask after its price, her query takes a lateral route, "Bet you must have to keep a good few staff to wash dishes and pots and such, right?"
"Oh? Where'd you come in from?" P'draig asks the next question, still in an easy-going manner. Palia's pencil turns to fill in another petal and her tongue sticks out a little bit to one side as she attempts to mimic some of Bailey's shading on the flowers. The brownrider's knife pauses mid-chop and he tilts his head back towards the other side of the double-sided kitchen. "Only other person here right now is my second cook. He's putting together salads. We tend to get a lot of salad orders for lunch." Paddy grins and blows out a breath. "So I'm guessing that's not who you're looking for." His head shakes though about the staff. "Not yet. Only been open about two months, so there's just the one and we all pitch in at the end of the night to get the whole place clean."
When it becomes clear that the brownrider is set on holding a conversation, Bailey gives the firelizard a last swipe of palest blue across its slightly rounded belly, picks up another pencil, adds a few speckles of amber across its multi-faceted eyes and lays down the pencil. To Palia, "You're really very good at this, you know," and now her father gains her attention. With a toss of head to send hair that had fallen forward during the coloring-in back over her shoulders, "Originally from southern, and most recently, wherever the wind takes my sails," a short smile appearing for that. Leaning forward to try and catch a glimpse of the cook in the kitchen and a crooked grin appears, "Not unless he's about your height, skin like midnight and built like an ox." A moment or two of contemplation as she turns over the information given at the end, "How about a trade then?"
"Thanks!" Palia says brightly and pauses to admire Bailey's handiwork. "I like how you made his eyes sparkly," is her confident opinion and she keeps going with the flowers, though she pauses now and then when there's a creak of the porch floorboards: just the lone server crossing to that other table to check on the customers. "Southern Hold, or the Weyr? Or another part of the continent entirely?" Paddy queries, knife resuming its work and he smiles, shakes his head. "Nope, he's a weedy type," of his other invisible cook, though the sound of chopping occasionally echoes from back there. "Built like an ox. Hm. Don't think I've seen a guy that answers to that description around here." He gathers up the chopped garnish and drops it into one of the little containers he's got lining his workstation. "Sails ... so you're a sailor? Got your own ship? I do a little bit of sailing - mostly for the fun of it, though sometimes I go after the urchins for some of the specials here." He brushes clinging green off of his fingers and looks up at Bailey. "Trade for ...?"
"I saw it in a book once," Bailey confides to Palia on the topic of sparkly firelizard eyes. The glass of water now half-empty leaves a ring of water when it gets lifted for another swallow, the brunette swiping at it with her free hand in attempt to wipe it away. "Neither. Just a small family run seahold on the coast of the continent," deliberately vague with the details. A short snicker erupts when the other cook is deemed weedy, "You'd remember him if you had," this of the one she's on the hunt for. "Aye, that I am. The Even'Star's mine," said with great pride where most would likely pretend non-ownership for such a vessel. Bemused now over the revelation that he too sails, "You do? But why? Surely if one is dragonrider..." realizing she might well have overstepped her bounds, she lets that train of thought fade off. And now to business. Turning herself slightly in her seating so as to be able to cross one leg over another, seemingly unaware of how the action causes the fabric to slip and reveal a section of shapely thigh, the brunette leaning an elbow on the counter cups her chin in a hand and stops just short of fluttering eyelashes. "There's two options. One, I go find the urchins for you and we work out compensation. Or two, I wash the dishes from today's luncheon trade and you give me a bowl of the wonderful soup your cook has on the go over there."
"Sounds nice. I've got family at Cove," P'draig supplies and looks up as the server returns and rattles off the order for that table in the corner. "Got it," he tells the server and turns away with an upheld finger to issue some instructions to the pot-stirring cook. The soup is lidded, the pot shifted to a spot with less heat and activity picks up a little in the kitchen as the pair of cooks start to actually make the requested dishes. "This fellow you're looking for does sound pretty memorable," Paddy notes with a grin and listens thereafter. "Because I wasn't always a rider and I like to sail," the brownrider says with an easy laugh. "I was posted at Tillek when I was a baker apprentice." She might be seemingly unaware of that flash of skin, P'draig's gaze shifts that way though, if only briefly. His grin quirks sideways as she does the all-but-flutter at him. "Are you trying to charm your lunch out of me?" he asks with good-natured humor in his voice. Palia's pencil pauses and she shoots Bailey a sidelong look and then a big 'you've got to be kidding me' one at her father.
"Cove's nice, been passed there a few times," Bailey responds falling silent and watching with interest as P'draig busies himself with the order, a faint smirk touching her mouth over the man she seeks. A chuckle greets his grin, "And cooking by the looks of it," adding an "Aaah, makes sense," once he mentions the bakercraft. "Don't you sometimes wish you hadn't been? Searched, that is," the question is out before she's given it much thought. Of course she pretends that she hasn't noticed him noticing that 'accidental' slip of skirt from her leg, the sly light entering her eyes, says otherwise. Baby blues do the big innocent act over the good-natured accusation until she ruins it with, "Is it working?" Palia's reaction not paid much heed at this moment in time.
"Yeah, they have great fruit there," P'draig says agreeably while he continues working. "Mmmhm. Stood twice, apprenticed in between, impressed the second time out and I almost didn't do it," the brownrider answers and just grins at the young woman. "With legs like those, of course it is. Which would you rather though, dishes or fishing? And if you're good at finding the hard-to-find shellfish, could maybe make it an ongoing thing. We're only getting busier the longer we're open." Palia's eyes go a-rolling ceilingward and she bends her head back to her coloring, getting most of the flowers done before the sound of feet in the entryway draws her off the stool and over to guide the newcomers inside, chipper, and seats them near the porch rail.
Bailey gives over a mischievous grin, "And wicked good fruit brandies too!" Her hand falls away from the propping of chin, picks up a pencil and idly starts to add a small yacht out on the horizon of the picture she and Palia had been working on while she listens to P'draig. Hopefully the action doesn't get the budding young artist riled up. "And now? Are you glad you did?" get searched and impress. It's either being caught out or the compliment that has the brunette unable to do nothing else but flash a cheesy grin the brownrider's way, "In that case, you have yourself a deal. Urchins delivered once a seven. In return for..." casting a glance about the place once again she changes tack and ends up putting another query to him instead, "know anyone that might have an empty stall down at the market?" With Palia scooting off to do her hostess thing, the woman's mouth settles into a sly line, "So, do I get that bowl of soup for the gratuitous flash of leg, or do I still have to do the dishes?"
"Very good fruit brandies," P'draig agrees, looking up as Palia moves away to settle those customers. His hands are occupied with his work and he takes what he's been mixing together, turns to set it on the stove, gives the coals beneath a poke. "Let's try it out for two sevens, if I'm happy with the quality of what you're bringing in, then we can talk longer-term," Paddy offers back, unfazed but he looks up at her once he's got the pan settled and reaches over to a shelf, brings down a bowl, ladles it full of the soup, which smells richly of a variety of local seafood and mushrooms. He sets this down in front of the young lady along with a hunk of bread broken off from a loaf and then bends down beneath the counter, reappears with two beers. Caps popped off, he puts one down next to her bowl. "While I appreciate the leg, consider this an advance on the sea urchins. I don't know about the market though. I don't go up there that often." Palia returns and hitches back up onto her stool gaze caught on the yacht, which she considers for a moment, tapping the end of her pencil against her lips.
Bailey combines a nod with an easygoing shrug, "Sounds fair to me." Let's not get into the fact that the woman has absolutely -no- idea how to go about procuring said urchins. The brunette all but visibly salivates when the bowl, bread and beer are set down before her, managing to restrain herself long enough to comment, "But isn't it run by the Weyr? Surely you must know someone on the inside that you know, could be of help?" The hunk of bread gets dipped into the wonderfully aromatic soup, a large bite is taken, savored and then washed down with a swig of beer, "Shards! You really know what you're doing here!" Another dunk, bite, swig and then she's remembering her manners and offering up a sheepish, "Thank you." Watching Palia's return and reaction from the corner of her eye with amusement she goes on to better explain herself to P'draig, "The way I see it. I get you your urchins, and as payment, you organize me a stall down at the market," triumphant for the sheer brilliance of her plan.
"Great," P'draig answers and picks up the second beer, apparently intent on clinking bottles. "Here's to a good deal then." He can be very thick and trusting he can. One swig of beer later and he's shaking his head. "The market isn't run by the Weyr, I don't think? I mean, it's more ... leasing out the space? Search me about the deal there. Ask the Weyrwoman or the Headwoman, they'd know more of the details." His brows slowly lift as she names these particular terms. "I -- really don't have anything to do with the market, though ... I guess I could ask around?" He looks honestly stumped though and Palia is sneaking looks between the pair again, like she's trying to get a bead on her father's reactions. Apparently, the yacht will do though, because she starts to color it in. Green.
Currently wolfing down the meal before her as if it's her last on Pern, the brunette glances up, swallows, and dutifully lifts her bottle to meet P'draig's in ceremonial clinking, "To new beginnings and trade fair to all," thankfully her mouth is empty. She may not know how to procure said sea urchins herself, but one can be sure the ever resourceful young woman will find a way to deliver on her promise. Eyes narrow slightly when it becomes evident that the brownrider truly has no knowledge of anything to do with the market. Slowly, but with great determination, and not more than a little disappointment reflected in her eyes, the brunette sets the bottle down and pushes the half eaten meal away from her. "I really," dropping her tone low enough to appear perhaps even sultry, "-really-, need that stall." If it weren't for the little girl's re-appearance, there may even have been more gratuitous flashes of flesh, who knows perhaps even offers of another kind thrown out there. Desperation can be such an ugly thing.
Another swig goes down the hatch, then P'draig starts to turn around to tend to that pan, but is arrested mid-motion by the shift in Bailey's tone and posture. His brow furrows though, like he's trying to put 'sultry' together with all those 'really needs'. Palia's pencil has stopped moving, but she's still bent over the drawing like she's absorbed in it, even if gray eyes are slanting Bailey's way from beneath lashes. She adjusts her posture a little, like she's picking up on that winning tone and how Bailey's going about winkling her dad. And if Paddy's not careful, in a second he's going to lose that pan of delicate fish and veggies to a bad char. Even without the gratuitous flashing, P'draig nods a couple of times. "I'll see what I can do, can't promise anything though," the brownrider notes, nose sniffing at the air as the fish starts to go beyond the point of no return. "Shells!"
Her chin going up, Bailey meets any look P'draig sends her, dead-on. Begging, is not one of her strong suits. The fish might be in danger of burning, Palia might be giving her sidelong glances and that bowl of half-eaten soup and bottle of beer, calling her name with lusty voice, but the brunette remains stock still as if this were an all or nothing gamble. She may even be holding her breath. Answered when a long soft almost-sigh passes her lips at the brownrider's reply, responded to with a quiet yet sincere, "Thank you, P'draig." One could almost be led to believe he's gone so far as to save her very life. Perhaps, unknowingly, he has in some way. The exclamation coming from him draws a gasp of dismay from the young woman, "Oh shit," temporarily forgetting the little ears in close proximity, "I'm so sorry!" Yup, she realizes that was likely her fault.
Busy with the fish and trying to make sure it doesn't get hopelessly crisped, P'draig misses Bailey's cussing. Palia however does not and her pencil end, the non-pointy side, reaches out to poke at the young woman's arm. "You said a bad word," she whispers very seriously, though she doesn't seem particularly upset by it. Her head cocks to the side though, long curls falling across her shoulders. "But you have really pretty hair." And she gives hers an experimental flip like Bailey did not too long ago. It might give Paddy a heart attack if he turns around right now. The other cook has his plates ready to go and the server is waiting to boot. A moment later, P'draig turns back around and shakes his head, dumps the contents of the pan onto a plate and sets it on the counter. "Here, if you don't mind some burnt spots, you can have that. I have to start over again for a paying customer though." Rueful. "Dyla, take the other plates over and let them know the other plate will be up in five. Dessert on the house if it's not out by then." Resigned.
The poke catches Bailey off guard and she jumps, staring at Palia with little comprehension at first and then it dawns on her. Fingers to mouth in a gesture of having done wrong, "Oh" but not sure how to respond it, "do I get my mouth washed out with soap now?" sticking out her tongue in comical manner. A soft smile touches her lips for the child's compliment. Reaching fingers to touch at the long curls, "So do you. You'd look really pretty with it piled on top of your head," if the little girl doesn't flinch away she'll demonstrate, "Like this." Which is likely to ensure that heart attack should her father turn around. The fish gets dumped before her and the brunette blinks, "Oh, umm...." How to respond? P'draig's tone is one all too familiar to her own ears. That and his kindness has her slipping off the stool, pushing the plate of fish his daughter's way and saying quietly, "Watch this for me." With that she quickly scoops up the plates Dyla was to get and delivers them to where they needed to go. Her way of showing gratitude.
"Miara would," Palia tells Bailey with a sly little grin. "But I won't. And neither will Papa." Gray eyes lift as Bailey props her hair on top of her head and Paddy, yes, is blinking at his daughter, stupefied enough for a moment that he doesn't immediately pick up on the fact that Bailey just scooped. Dyla looks just as surprised and maybe a little miffed. "She's not going to take my /tip/ is she?" the blonde mutters and Paddy's mouth snaps closed as he reaches over to ruffle his hand through Palia's curls. "No -- it'll by fine Dyla." And then he's busily putting together the replacement entree, while Palia swivels her stool around and watches Bailey deliver the food, expression thoughtful.
Just before she swept off with the plates, "Miara, eh? Remind me to stay away from that one, then," a wink to Palia and off she goes. Which means she misses both the brownrider's stupefied look and Dyla's grumble. Sadly, the generous faire given her by P'draig goes to waste for the rest of the lunchtime rush hour is spent sallying back and forth between kitchen and patrons. By the end of it, there is a generous assortment of half and quarter marks that are duly handed over to the waitress before a weary yet self-satisfied Bailey returns once again to the counter. The slightly burned, and by now cold fish bits are scooped into the half-eaten bowl of chowder, the beer bottle taken up. With a winning smile sent to the father-daughter team, the young woman says, "Right, now that we've got that sorted out, I'll be seeing you when I return these," the bowl and what will be an empty beer bottle. With a flick of long hair over her shoulder and not so much as a backward glance, the brunette sashays out back the way she'd arrived.
Since the lunch rush suddenly hits, neither Dyla nor P'draig are in much of a position to protest Bailey's volunteering. Palia too has to hop to it, coloring abandoned for now as even the counter winds up filling up. It's not until things are winding down that Paddy starts to put in a protesting "You didn't have to --" but then Bailey as sashaying off and well, curvy hips swaying like that will distract the brownrider for a good few seconds, leaving Dyla snickering as she pockets the tips and one of the cooks guffawing, though the other is shooting his own appreciative glances after the woman. Palia? She just rolls her eyes again and nudges her father in the ribs. "I'd like some juice please Papa. And then I'm going swimming. It's gotten /hot/." The brownrider blinks a couple of times, looks down at his daughter. "Right, right, sorry sweetie. Um ... here." With juice in hand, coloring book tucked under arm and her pencils in their pouch to go along, Palia slips away into the private part of the cothold, only to reappear on the beach a few minutes later, while Paddy's brain is still catching up with the rest of him. Eventually he'll start laughing while he and the cooks clean up the kitchen and take their own break in between lunch and dinner.
When: It is a spring morning, 11:08 of day 24, month 5, turn 22 of Interval 10.
Where: The Beach House, Ista Weyr
What: Paddy and Palia meet Bailey who is very good at winkling deals out of a sucker like Paddy.
>---< Local Weather for ISW >------------------------------------------------<
Current Temp: 81 F Today's Lo/Hi: 79 F / 88 F
Belior: waning crescent Timor: waxing crescent
Weather: showers
----------------------------------------------------------------------------
The morning is humid and breezy with brief showers in the mid-afternoon,
by evening the sky has cleared.
>-------------------------------------< 11:08 D24 M5 T22, spring morning >---<
The Beach House(#1647RJ)
Standing between things: the beach and the jungle, the Weyr and the Hold and serving more than one function, both public business and private abode, the Beach House has a comfortable, relaxed feel to it. Built along southern lines, the entire cothold is wrapped around with a porch and the roof slopes low, hanging out over the edges of its support structures: future protection against Thread. The windows are wide and set low in the walls, a few boasting full glass panes, the rest screened and shuttered with sliding panels.
On this end of the building, set at a slight angle to the water with a full view of the beach, the porch lies nearly flush to the ground allowing patrons to walk right into the restaurant. Cane-weave tables and chairs for two and four line the porch walls and a long counter provides both extra seating 'bar' style along with a view right into the open kitchen. An opening wide enough for two people is cut into the counter allowing servers to pass between the kitchen and the dining area. Warm-hued wood paneling lines the underside of the roof and all of the surfaces within the restaurant and local climbing vine flowers curl around the support posts of the porch from planters hung beneath. When open for business, little glow baskets are unlidded within the embrace of the vines to provide a little extra decorative touch. Dimly visible, about a quarter of a mile away are the docks and the Sandbar.
The Beach House has just opened for lunch, which means it's slow yet: only two people are sitting at one of the tables in the corner of the porch where the ocean breeze washes through and cools things down. It's a typical almost-summer Istan day: humid, warm, but it's not horribly sticky yet. Perched at the counter with a coloring book is Palia, P'draig's eight-turn old daughter and the brownrider stands behind that counter, moving about in a measured, steady way, laying things out, doing a little chopping and looking over lists of things, while the other cook presently on duty stirs something in a big pot on the stove.
Two patrons looks set to become three as a brunette steps out of the bright sunlight and onto the porch, munching her way through one of the island's seasonal fruits. Heedless of whether it might be bad form or not to enter an eating establishment while...already eating, she takes her time allowing her eyes to adjust as she takes her surroundings in. It's the little girl to whom her attention finally falls first, barefooted steps carrying her in Palia's direction.
Softly: "Customer, Pali-girl," P'draig prompts his daughter as he looks up and catches sight of incoming, fruit-munching Bailey first. The girl sits up a little, putting down the purple she was holding and swivels on her stool, fixes Bailey with a long look which is followed by a sudden bright and very dimpled smile. "Hi there! Welcome to the Beach House. Want to sit up here at the counter, or would you rather have a table all to yourself?" This manner of hostessing seems to amuse Paddy to no end, head ducking as he chews on his cheeks to hold in laughter.
First surprise and then amusement color Bailey's expression at the little girl's greeting. Stepping close enough that she can now see the coloring-in book, her head tips to one side as if giving the query serious thought, "If I sit up here with you, will I be allowed to color-in too?" Only now is P'draig given closer, more obvious inspection, the knot at his shoulder drawing a frown so quick to be banished that it may go unnoticed by him. She has no words for the brownrider just yet, aside from a quick smile and then her eyes are casting back to Palia in anticipation of her response.
That response earns a tilt of Palia's head and a quick check with her father, all silent. Paddy meets his daughter's gaze and gives her a little nod of permission, all while setting out little containers and then giving the countertop a swipe with a freshly wet rag. "Yes, you can color too if you really want to," Palia invites and swivels her stool back around, carefully slides the coloring book over and aligns her pencils along the top where Bailey can reach if she sits beside the girl. "The menu card is right here if you want to get lunch," she adds. Once she's done doing /her/ spiel, P'draig finally speaks up. "We've got fresh shellfish in and some porcine from the mainland for the lunch specials. Let me know if you'd like to start with a drink, I think you've got appetizers covered," the brownrider remarks good-naturedly about Bailey's just-consumed fruit.
Bailey
From flare of hip to swell of breast, Bailey's frame puts curves to all the right places of her 5' 8" stature. Falling to just past her shoulder blades, brunette tresses streaked through with flashes of auburn frame an oval shaped face that tends toward square. The absence of bangs provides an uncluttered view of sky blue eyes set beneath finely shaped brows. Faint freckles dust across nose and cheeks offering up a misguided air of beguiling naivete. Harbouring a small scar at the corner of the top lip this otherwise sensual mouth that pulls easily into laughter will move just as quickly into a compressed line of displeasure.
Attire is lightweight and in keeping with that of the warmer climes. A wrap-around skirt in a merry jumble of emerald green and fuchsia pink shot through with threads of silver is tied low on the hips and paired with a simple white halter neck top that stops just short of covering her navel. The only adornment worn is that of a bracelet braided together with black horsehair and knotted in place around her left wrist. Leather thong sandals complete the ensemble but are rarely found on her feet.
The exchange between child and brownrider doesn't escape Bailey's attention, she is however polite enough to pretend otherwise. Lips twitch but restrain the laughter bubbling just below the surface for the reply. Setting an expression equal to the honor of joining in with coloring-in, the brunette slides up onto the stool next to the little girl, saying, "You're most kind," and then because it's just mannerly to do so she extends a hand to the child, "I'm Bailey. So, what are working on today?" Her attention is on her new companion, but she's listening to what P'draig is saying, the faint flush to her cheeks at his last bearing testament to that. The sticky pip of the fruit just consumed is held delicately between thumb and finger unsure what she should do with the damning evidence. Then holding it out as if to trade it, "Perhaps just some water for now?"
"I'm Palia," the girl replies promptly and takes Bailey's hand with all the solemnity due the moment. "I'm a hostess," she also confides very seriously. The picture on the page: a fair of firelizards darting above waves, with a queen curled up atop a clutch of eggs protectively. Only one of the lizards is colored in so far in shades of blue and Palia's been working on the flowering vines that decorate a little bit of cliff-face in the background. The girl gestures very properly towards her father. "And this is P'draig, he's the owner and chef here at the Beach House." Clearly, the kid gets a kick out of her big important job. "He'll be cooking your lunch today, once you decide what you'd like." And there's that salesman's smile again even as Palia points to the drawing in the book. "You can color whatever you'd like." And she's picking up the purple again to continue with the flowers. Paddy just smiles and nods. "One water, coming right up," and holds out his hand for the abandoned pip, which finds its way into a compost bucket. water, with ice in, is poured from a pitcher into a tall glass and set down on the counter.
"Oooh," sounding very impressed at the title the little girl bestows upon herself, "Well met, Palia." Due attention is given the page she's to help with, the image of firelizards causing a corner of her mouth to lift upward. The child's introduction now forcing her to give proper attention to the man behind the counter, Bailey does just that, big baby blues casting a long look over him. "Nice place you got here, P'draig," not sounding nearly as at ease with the adult as she is with Palia. Even less so once he's taking that pip and discarding it, "It's a long walk," she tries to explain about the recently consumed fruit and the request for water too most likely. With her left hand taking up a blue pencil to begin coloring one of the firelizards, her right reaches to surreptiously draw the menu just close enough that she can glance at prices without seeming to do so.
Shading purple into a petal, Palia sneaks a look sidelong at Bailey's coloring technique, curiously. Meanwhile, Paddy's put the pitcher back down under his workspace, where presumably there's a cooler or similar keeping things chilly. "Did you come all the way down from the Weyr just now?" the brownrider asks in a friendly, easy-going fashion as he resumes prep work. The menu is higher end than what's available at the Sand Bar, but the prices, while not cheap, aren't outrageous either. The place seems to be oriented on providing a finer dining experience in a family-friendly setting at affordable prices. And the smell coming off of the soup pot that other cook is stirring is pretty darned good. Some kind of chowder, go figure.
Thus far Bailey, pressing a little harder on the pencil to produce a deeper shade, has followed along the outlines of the firelizard. That done, she's now starting to add the same deep shade to places that would fall in shadow were the light coming in from the top of the critter. Laying her pencil down for a bit, the glass of iced water is taken up and a good few gulps are swallowed down. Wiping her hand across the back of her mouth in unladylike manner, her attention is back to P'draig, shaking her head, "Haven't been really been to the Weyr itself yet," setting the glass back down a finger traces a spiral pattern into the condensation formed on its sides, "came from the docks." A quick glance about the establishment, "Looking for someone. Thought I might find him here." The menu is carefully pushed aside, her nostrils flaring slightly for the delicious smell of soup wafting in the air. Unbidden, her tongue does a quick swipe across her bottom lip and rather than ask after its price, her query takes a lateral route, "Bet you must have to keep a good few staff to wash dishes and pots and such, right?"
"Oh? Where'd you come in from?" P'draig asks the next question, still in an easy-going manner. Palia's pencil turns to fill in another petal and her tongue sticks out a little bit to one side as she attempts to mimic some of Bailey's shading on the flowers. The brownrider's knife pauses mid-chop and he tilts his head back towards the other side of the double-sided kitchen. "Only other person here right now is my second cook. He's putting together salads. We tend to get a lot of salad orders for lunch." Paddy grins and blows out a breath. "So I'm guessing that's not who you're looking for." His head shakes though about the staff. "Not yet. Only been open about two months, so there's just the one and we all pitch in at the end of the night to get the whole place clean."
When it becomes clear that the brownrider is set on holding a conversation, Bailey gives the firelizard a last swipe of palest blue across its slightly rounded belly, picks up another pencil, adds a few speckles of amber across its multi-faceted eyes and lays down the pencil. To Palia, "You're really very good at this, you know," and now her father gains her attention. With a toss of head to send hair that had fallen forward during the coloring-in back over her shoulders, "Originally from southern, and most recently, wherever the wind takes my sails," a short smile appearing for that. Leaning forward to try and catch a glimpse of the cook in the kitchen and a crooked grin appears, "Not unless he's about your height, skin like midnight and built like an ox." A moment or two of contemplation as she turns over the information given at the end, "How about a trade then?"
"Thanks!" Palia says brightly and pauses to admire Bailey's handiwork. "I like how you made his eyes sparkly," is her confident opinion and she keeps going with the flowers, though she pauses now and then when there's a creak of the porch floorboards: just the lone server crossing to that other table to check on the customers. "Southern Hold, or the Weyr? Or another part of the continent entirely?" Paddy queries, knife resuming its work and he smiles, shakes his head. "Nope, he's a weedy type," of his other invisible cook, though the sound of chopping occasionally echoes from back there. "Built like an ox. Hm. Don't think I've seen a guy that answers to that description around here." He gathers up the chopped garnish and drops it into one of the little containers he's got lining his workstation. "Sails ... so you're a sailor? Got your own ship? I do a little bit of sailing - mostly for the fun of it, though sometimes I go after the urchins for some of the specials here." He brushes clinging green off of his fingers and looks up at Bailey. "Trade for ...?"
"I saw it in a book once," Bailey confides to Palia on the topic of sparkly firelizard eyes. The glass of water now half-empty leaves a ring of water when it gets lifted for another swallow, the brunette swiping at it with her free hand in attempt to wipe it away. "Neither. Just a small family run seahold on the coast of the continent," deliberately vague with the details. A short snicker erupts when the other cook is deemed weedy, "You'd remember him if you had," this of the one she's on the hunt for. "Aye, that I am. The Even'Star's mine," said with great pride where most would likely pretend non-ownership for such a vessel. Bemused now over the revelation that he too sails, "You do? But why? Surely if one is dragonrider..." realizing she might well have overstepped her bounds, she lets that train of thought fade off. And now to business. Turning herself slightly in her seating so as to be able to cross one leg over another, seemingly unaware of how the action causes the fabric to slip and reveal a section of shapely thigh, the brunette leaning an elbow on the counter cups her chin in a hand and stops just short of fluttering eyelashes. "There's two options. One, I go find the urchins for you and we work out compensation. Or two, I wash the dishes from today's luncheon trade and you give me a bowl of the wonderful soup your cook has on the go over there."
"Sounds nice. I've got family at Cove," P'draig supplies and looks up as the server returns and rattles off the order for that table in the corner. "Got it," he tells the server and turns away with an upheld finger to issue some instructions to the pot-stirring cook. The soup is lidded, the pot shifted to a spot with less heat and activity picks up a little in the kitchen as the pair of cooks start to actually make the requested dishes. "This fellow you're looking for does sound pretty memorable," Paddy notes with a grin and listens thereafter. "Because I wasn't always a rider and I like to sail," the brownrider says with an easy laugh. "I was posted at Tillek when I was a baker apprentice." She might be seemingly unaware of that flash of skin, P'draig's gaze shifts that way though, if only briefly. His grin quirks sideways as she does the all-but-flutter at him. "Are you trying to charm your lunch out of me?" he asks with good-natured humor in his voice. Palia's pencil pauses and she shoots Bailey a sidelong look and then a big 'you've got to be kidding me' one at her father.
"Cove's nice, been passed there a few times," Bailey responds falling silent and watching with interest as P'draig busies himself with the order, a faint smirk touching her mouth over the man she seeks. A chuckle greets his grin, "And cooking by the looks of it," adding an "Aaah, makes sense," once he mentions the bakercraft. "Don't you sometimes wish you hadn't been? Searched, that is," the question is out before she's given it much thought. Of course she pretends that she hasn't noticed him noticing that 'accidental' slip of skirt from her leg, the sly light entering her eyes, says otherwise. Baby blues do the big innocent act over the good-natured accusation until she ruins it with, "Is it working?" Palia's reaction not paid much heed at this moment in time.
"Yeah, they have great fruit there," P'draig says agreeably while he continues working. "Mmmhm. Stood twice, apprenticed in between, impressed the second time out and I almost didn't do it," the brownrider answers and just grins at the young woman. "With legs like those, of course it is. Which would you rather though, dishes or fishing? And if you're good at finding the hard-to-find shellfish, could maybe make it an ongoing thing. We're only getting busier the longer we're open." Palia's eyes go a-rolling ceilingward and she bends her head back to her coloring, getting most of the flowers done before the sound of feet in the entryway draws her off the stool and over to guide the newcomers inside, chipper, and seats them near the porch rail.
Bailey gives over a mischievous grin, "And wicked good fruit brandies too!" Her hand falls away from the propping of chin, picks up a pencil and idly starts to add a small yacht out on the horizon of the picture she and Palia had been working on while she listens to P'draig. Hopefully the action doesn't get the budding young artist riled up. "And now? Are you glad you did?" get searched and impress. It's either being caught out or the compliment that has the brunette unable to do nothing else but flash a cheesy grin the brownrider's way, "In that case, you have yourself a deal. Urchins delivered once a seven. In return for..." casting a glance about the place once again she changes tack and ends up putting another query to him instead, "know anyone that might have an empty stall down at the market?" With Palia scooting off to do her hostess thing, the woman's mouth settles into a sly line, "So, do I get that bowl of soup for the gratuitous flash of leg, or do I still have to do the dishes?"
"Very good fruit brandies," P'draig agrees, looking up as Palia moves away to settle those customers. His hands are occupied with his work and he takes what he's been mixing together, turns to set it on the stove, gives the coals beneath a poke. "Let's try it out for two sevens, if I'm happy with the quality of what you're bringing in, then we can talk longer-term," Paddy offers back, unfazed but he looks up at her once he's got the pan settled and reaches over to a shelf, brings down a bowl, ladles it full of the soup, which smells richly of a variety of local seafood and mushrooms. He sets this down in front of the young lady along with a hunk of bread broken off from a loaf and then bends down beneath the counter, reappears with two beers. Caps popped off, he puts one down next to her bowl. "While I appreciate the leg, consider this an advance on the sea urchins. I don't know about the market though. I don't go up there that often." Palia returns and hitches back up onto her stool gaze caught on the yacht, which she considers for a moment, tapping the end of her pencil against her lips.
Bailey combines a nod with an easygoing shrug, "Sounds fair to me." Let's not get into the fact that the woman has absolutely -no- idea how to go about procuring said urchins. The brunette all but visibly salivates when the bowl, bread and beer are set down before her, managing to restrain herself long enough to comment, "But isn't it run by the Weyr? Surely you must know someone on the inside that you know, could be of help?" The hunk of bread gets dipped into the wonderfully aromatic soup, a large bite is taken, savored and then washed down with a swig of beer, "Shards! You really know what you're doing here!" Another dunk, bite, swig and then she's remembering her manners and offering up a sheepish, "Thank you." Watching Palia's return and reaction from the corner of her eye with amusement she goes on to better explain herself to P'draig, "The way I see it. I get you your urchins, and as payment, you organize me a stall down at the market," triumphant for the sheer brilliance of her plan.
"Great," P'draig answers and picks up the second beer, apparently intent on clinking bottles. "Here's to a good deal then." He can be very thick and trusting he can. One swig of beer later and he's shaking his head. "The market isn't run by the Weyr, I don't think? I mean, it's more ... leasing out the space? Search me about the deal there. Ask the Weyrwoman or the Headwoman, they'd know more of the details." His brows slowly lift as she names these particular terms. "I -- really don't have anything to do with the market, though ... I guess I could ask around?" He looks honestly stumped though and Palia is sneaking looks between the pair again, like she's trying to get a bead on her father's reactions. Apparently, the yacht will do though, because she starts to color it in. Green.
Currently wolfing down the meal before her as if it's her last on Pern, the brunette glances up, swallows, and dutifully lifts her bottle to meet P'draig's in ceremonial clinking, "To new beginnings and trade fair to all," thankfully her mouth is empty. She may not know how to procure said sea urchins herself, but one can be sure the ever resourceful young woman will find a way to deliver on her promise. Eyes narrow slightly when it becomes evident that the brownrider truly has no knowledge of anything to do with the market. Slowly, but with great determination, and not more than a little disappointment reflected in her eyes, the brunette sets the bottle down and pushes the half eaten meal away from her. "I really," dropping her tone low enough to appear perhaps even sultry, "-really-, need that stall." If it weren't for the little girl's re-appearance, there may even have been more gratuitous flashes of flesh, who knows perhaps even offers of another kind thrown out there. Desperation can be such an ugly thing.
Another swig goes down the hatch, then P'draig starts to turn around to tend to that pan, but is arrested mid-motion by the shift in Bailey's tone and posture. His brow furrows though, like he's trying to put 'sultry' together with all those 'really needs'. Palia's pencil has stopped moving, but she's still bent over the drawing like she's absorbed in it, even if gray eyes are slanting Bailey's way from beneath lashes. She adjusts her posture a little, like she's picking up on that winning tone and how Bailey's going about winkling her dad. And if Paddy's not careful, in a second he's going to lose that pan of delicate fish and veggies to a bad char. Even without the gratuitous flashing, P'draig nods a couple of times. "I'll see what I can do, can't promise anything though," the brownrider notes, nose sniffing at the air as the fish starts to go beyond the point of no return. "Shells!"
Her chin going up, Bailey meets any look P'draig sends her, dead-on. Begging, is not one of her strong suits. The fish might be in danger of burning, Palia might be giving her sidelong glances and that bowl of half-eaten soup and bottle of beer, calling her name with lusty voice, but the brunette remains stock still as if this were an all or nothing gamble. She may even be holding her breath. Answered when a long soft almost-sigh passes her lips at the brownrider's reply, responded to with a quiet yet sincere, "Thank you, P'draig." One could almost be led to believe he's gone so far as to save her very life. Perhaps, unknowingly, he has in some way. The exclamation coming from him draws a gasp of dismay from the young woman, "Oh shit," temporarily forgetting the little ears in close proximity, "I'm so sorry!" Yup, she realizes that was likely her fault.
Busy with the fish and trying to make sure it doesn't get hopelessly crisped, P'draig misses Bailey's cussing. Palia however does not and her pencil end, the non-pointy side, reaches out to poke at the young woman's arm. "You said a bad word," she whispers very seriously, though she doesn't seem particularly upset by it. Her head cocks to the side though, long curls falling across her shoulders. "But you have really pretty hair." And she gives hers an experimental flip like Bailey did not too long ago. It might give Paddy a heart attack if he turns around right now. The other cook has his plates ready to go and the server is waiting to boot. A moment later, P'draig turns back around and shakes his head, dumps the contents of the pan onto a plate and sets it on the counter. "Here, if you don't mind some burnt spots, you can have that. I have to start over again for a paying customer though." Rueful. "Dyla, take the other plates over and let them know the other plate will be up in five. Dessert on the house if it's not out by then." Resigned.
The poke catches Bailey off guard and she jumps, staring at Palia with little comprehension at first and then it dawns on her. Fingers to mouth in a gesture of having done wrong, "Oh" but not sure how to respond it, "do I get my mouth washed out with soap now?" sticking out her tongue in comical manner. A soft smile touches her lips for the child's compliment. Reaching fingers to touch at the long curls, "So do you. You'd look really pretty with it piled on top of your head," if the little girl doesn't flinch away she'll demonstrate, "Like this." Which is likely to ensure that heart attack should her father turn around. The fish gets dumped before her and the brunette blinks, "Oh, umm...." How to respond? P'draig's tone is one all too familiar to her own ears. That and his kindness has her slipping off the stool, pushing the plate of fish his daughter's way and saying quietly, "Watch this for me." With that she quickly scoops up the plates Dyla was to get and delivers them to where they needed to go. Her way of showing gratitude.
"Miara would," Palia tells Bailey with a sly little grin. "But I won't. And neither will Papa." Gray eyes lift as Bailey props her hair on top of her head and Paddy, yes, is blinking at his daughter, stupefied enough for a moment that he doesn't immediately pick up on the fact that Bailey just scooped. Dyla looks just as surprised and maybe a little miffed. "She's not going to take my /tip/ is she?" the blonde mutters and Paddy's mouth snaps closed as he reaches over to ruffle his hand through Palia's curls. "No -- it'll by fine Dyla." And then he's busily putting together the replacement entree, while Palia swivels her stool around and watches Bailey deliver the food, expression thoughtful.
Just before she swept off with the plates, "Miara, eh? Remind me to stay away from that one, then," a wink to Palia and off she goes. Which means she misses both the brownrider's stupefied look and Dyla's grumble. Sadly, the generous faire given her by P'draig goes to waste for the rest of the lunchtime rush hour is spent sallying back and forth between kitchen and patrons. By the end of it, there is a generous assortment of half and quarter marks that are duly handed over to the waitress before a weary yet self-satisfied Bailey returns once again to the counter. The slightly burned, and by now cold fish bits are scooped into the half-eaten bowl of chowder, the beer bottle taken up. With a winning smile sent to the father-daughter team, the young woman says, "Right, now that we've got that sorted out, I'll be seeing you when I return these," the bowl and what will be an empty beer bottle. With a flick of long hair over her shoulder and not so much as a backward glance, the brunette sashays out back the way she'd arrived.
Since the lunch rush suddenly hits, neither Dyla nor P'draig are in much of a position to protest Bailey's volunteering. Palia too has to hop to it, coloring abandoned for now as even the counter winds up filling up. It's not until things are winding down that Paddy starts to put in a protesting "You didn't have to --" but then Bailey as sashaying off and well, curvy hips swaying like that will distract the brownrider for a good few seconds, leaving Dyla snickering as she pockets the tips and one of the cooks guffawing, though the other is shooting his own appreciative glances after the woman. Palia? She just rolls her eyes again and nudges her father in the ribs. "I'd like some juice please Papa. And then I'm going swimming. It's gotten /hot/." The brownrider blinks a couple of times, looks down at his daughter. "Right, right, sorry sweetie. Um ... here." With juice in hand, coloring book tucked under arm and her pencils in their pouch to go along, Palia slips away into the private part of the cothold, only to reappear on the beach a few minutes later, while Paddy's brain is still catching up with the rest of him. Eventually he'll start laughing while he and the cooks clean up the kitchen and take their own break in between lunch and dinner.